


Stop, Breathe, Count to Three

by MissTiffanyBlews



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTiffanyBlews/pseuds/MissTiffanyBlews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabeau Jordan swore it was a complete accident that she stumbled upon the Winter Soldier. While trying to help him with her empathetic abilities, something happened and bond between them formed, one that could not be undone. Forcibly tied to one another, they'll have to stay off of HYDRA's radar and stay alive together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Bucky woke to sunlight streaming through a window and lighting up his face. The warmth on his skin combined with a woman lying on his chest while laying in a shocking soft bed was utter bliss. Her soft breath brushed against his clavicle and he couldn’t stop the smile that twitched on his lips. It was the lack of a third body on the mattress that confused him. He distinctly remembered falling into bed with Steve’s and his own dates from the Stark Expo.

Slowly opening his eyes, he could make out a head of black hair, which caused him even more confusment. The dames he had been with were blonde and brunette, not black haired. He peered around the room and noticed the odd decorating. This was definitely not his place and he assumed it belonged to the woman.

Now more alert, he slowly slipped out from underneath her, being careful not to wake her. He was completely naked, and the sheets came up her waist and exposed her bare breasts so he assumed she was as well. She was stacked to say the least. But what surprised him was her darker skin color. He had never been with a colored woman before, merely for the fact that it was unsafe. Surely he would’ve remembered charming one into bed, even just because he had to have been so cautious.

Wait, if Stark Expo was last night that meant he was being shipped out this morning. “Dang! Shit!” he cursed, realizing that he was late.

His explicatives caused the dame to stir. “James?” she mumbled, surprising him. No one called him that but his mother. She groaned, rolled over on her back, and stretched, giving him a nice view of her breasts. He was slightly surprised to see her shaved armpits; as far as he knew, women stopped shaving to conserve metal for the War.

She blinked sleepily and looked at him through her dark lashes. Her eyes were a warm hazel despite her hispanic features. Her smile was lazy yet sultry. “Come back to bed,” she purred. There was a feeling in him that was familiar though he was sure he had never felt it before. It was as if he felt her sleepiness mixed with arousal. He knew these feelings were not his own, but they mingled and meshed so deeply that it caused lines to blur. As much as he sensed her emotions, she must have sensed his. She sat up quickly, causing the white sheet to fall to her hips. “James?” she asked again. “Are you okay?” That tired arousal turned into concern and bemusement, stemming from her.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Where am I?”

A frown creased her features as she slid from the bed and slowly approached him. “I’m Bo, remember? You’re in my bedroom in my apartment.” She stood only a foot away at this point. She cautiously raised her hands and placed them on his bare chest. The touch of her skin was like a breath of fresh air. He sighed and relaxed, just realizing how tense he was. “That’s better,” she cooed. She rubbed smooth circles over his heart while her other hand skimmed his neck and went into his hair. “Now, James,” she began.

“Bucky,” he interrupted her.

“What?”

“Bucky,” he confirmed again. “People call me Bucky, not James.”

The frown returned to her face and he found himself tempted to smooth it out with his thumb. “Okay… Bucky. Can you tell me what year it is?”

His frown matched hers now. “What?” he echoed.

“Just humor me.”

He licked his lips and answered her. “It’s 1942, ma’am.”

**The frown pulled at her own lips. “No, sweetie, it’s 2014.”**


	2. You're a Regular Decorated Emergency

Her stomach clenched painfully, her face grew warm, and she knew she was about to be sick. Chills shook her body despite the sweat accumulating on her brow. She bowed her head and placed her hand over her mouth in hopes of holding back whatever was going to come up.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, taking his eyes off the road to look at her in the passenger seat. He took in her pale face and sickly body language. “You’re not about to hurl are you? I’d rather you not do it in the car.”

“Pull over,” she gasped out.

“Right,” he answered. He put on the blinker and moved over to the shoulder of the road. Before he could reach his destination, a force slammed into the side of the car. Her eyes widened at the sight of the male figure out her window, holding on to the still moving vehicle. He grasped the handle but didn’t open the door, instead he pulled it off its hinges and tossed it to the side.

“Shit!” Sam shouted, slamming on the breaks. “Not again!”

The powerful metal arm reached in and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and hoisted her out. With the car safely standing still, he jumped off and picked her up and held her in his arms bridal style. Pressed against his chest, she felt the twisting of her stomach suddenly dissipate. And with that, he took off running.

* * *

I am sure, dear readers, that you are very confused and possibly wondering if I posted the wrong chapter, but I can assure you that I did not. The prologue was strange enough and is a fraction of the future to come. This beginning, however, is in the much nearer future.

I think it’s time I finally started at the true beginning.

She had found him an alley of all the pathetic places. It was his pain that called to her, tapped on her shields and begged for the suffering to end. She had first reached out with her mind to find no one else but him and her on the street. With the coast clear, her feet guided her to the dark crevice between a restaurant and watch repair shop. Nicky’s Bar & Grill and Gray & Sons’ provided a poor haven for the lost man.

She placed the plastic bag of groceries on the ground and kept her hands in her pockets, one hand on her cellphone, and the other on her pepper spray. She touched him with her mind, feeling the rough edges of his unconscious pain. It was his helpless stupor that put her at ease. He had no way of hurting her in his current state and he couldn’t fake those emotions.

The tall street light on the sidewalk provided her enough light to look at him. He was slouched against the brick wall with his head bowed and his chin resting against his chest. He wore a dingy jacket despite the warmth of the late spring night, making her wonder if he was homeless. His dark brown hair was greasy and tucked underneath a baseball cap, which shadowed the top half of his face. Scruff was starting to grow into a beard. His lips were nicely shaped even though the bottom one was split open and scabbing with dried blood smudged through his facial hair on the side of his chin. The heaving of his chest and the gasping sounds that passed through his chapped lips showed his shallow breathing.

She knelt down by his side and pressed a hand to his forehead. The skin was clammy and much too warm. She pulled her hand away and wiped the sweat off on her jeans. She didn’t want to touch his feverish skin, but she knew she had to in order to do this thing right.

Sitting on her heels, she placed each hand on either side of his face. She dropped her shields and reached into his mind, touching and testing. She was no mind reader, but she could easily shuffle through his emotions. He was like a blank canvas that had been recently splashed with black and grey paint, but the fabric of the canvas was bleeding red.

She had been able to read emotions since she was twelve years old, right after she had gotten her first period. It had taken her months to learn how to use her shields so she wasn’t constantly drowning in what other people felt. She had also discovered the colors. They were connected to what people were currently feeling and she suspected that it was where the idea of auras came from. She didn’t see the color as much as she felt and tasted it. This man was black with low energy, grey with exhaustion and sadness, and very red with anger and fear.

It was while she was reading the colors that it happened. Something snapped into place and it was like her shields had been blown to smithereens in that moment. She was hit with the full brunt of his emotions. She could feel all his pain; a gash opened along her hairline, her split lip stung with every breath, the side of her stomach bloomed in pain, and while her left shoulder was sore, there was nothing beyond that. She couldn’t feel her arm.

The sensation was enough to knock her on her ass while the man gasped awake, but it only lasted a split second. These was a warmth running through her veins that was like liquid sunshine. It rebuilt her shields and stopped the pain that nearly sent her body into shock.

Rising on trembling legs, she caught the dazed look in his steel blue eyes. She pondered leaving him, but the feeling of guilt and pain smacked her across the face and she quickly dispelled the idea. She gripped the bicep of his right arm, knowing something was off about the left one, and hoisted him up. “Come on,” she urged him. He instantly complied and went with her, but stumbled on his own feet and almost knocked them both over.

“Steady,” she said, trying to balance him out. She placed his right arm around her shoulders while her arm would around his waist. She held her breath for a second and consciously stopped breathing through her nose, not wanting to take in anymore of his ripe smell. She took part of his weight for him and remembered to grab her bag before limping down the street with him. He mumbled incoherently on the short walk to her apartment building. She leaned him against the brick wall to unlock the door. Taking hold of one another again, they stumbled inside and then into the elevator. While ascending to the third floor, his head fell limp against her shoulder. Once the doors slid open, she nudged him to keep him awake as they finished the final leg of their journey.

Once inside, she deposited him in the double bed of the guest room and went back to lock the door behind her and put her things away. Back in his new room, she saw that he had dozed off again. His mouth was agape and he made a whirring noise in the back of his throat that she didn’t think fully counted as a sore. In the new light, she could see a bruise along his jaw that had been hidden by his beard. It was splotched with purple and yellow. She took off his hat and placed it on the nightstand. She noticed his brows were thick in shape but light in coloring. His greasy hair shone in the light, making her scrunch up her nose a bit. It reminded her of how dirty he was and the fact she would need a shower to get rid of his nasty scent and probably wash the comforter he was on.

She gingerly brushed back his hair, not really wanting to touch him in this state. She inspected the cut on his hairline that thankfully wasn’t bleeding and looked like it was starting to scab. She paused, not really sure what to do first. Deciding he couldn’t stay in those clothes, she started with his jacket. She quickly identified him as soon as she saw the metal arm with the deep red star with a thin black outline. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought back to watching the news, videos of this man carrying large guns, jumping on top of cars, blowing them up, trying to kill Captain America.

Any other person would have instantly called the police and turned the terrorist in, but to her it was out of the question. The idea of parting from him was revolting and she knew it was because of this strange bond she accidently formed. She was constantly aware of what he was feeling and she knew it was a two way street. The shields she had put up stopped her from crumbling to his pain.

Stripping him of his jacket, she saw that his shirt was just as dingy, even worse though as blood was soaked on the side of his stomach. “Shit,” she cursed. She slowly pulled away the fabric with a bit of resistance as the blood had dried it to the wound. He goaned, but did not awake. The touch of his firm stomach was hot and she knew he had a fever. From the looks of the wound, this was causing his infection. It was a struggle to lift the T shirt over his arms and head, but she finally managed even though he was moved about like a rag doll.

Thick scar tissue outlined where metal met flesh as the bionic arm engulfed his entire shoulder. More scars stemmed from the area of contact and spread across part of his breast. Most had turned white over time but some were still pinkish in color.

Finally taking her eyes off his deformity and resisting the urge to touch, she went to the foot of the bed and started to untie his black combat boots. She added his gross socks to the pile of dirty laundry. She eyed his dark washed jeans before shrugging and unbuckling his belt. She had unbuttoned them and had her fingers on his zipper when she felt him wake up. If it wasn’t for the bond, she probably would have screamed when a metal hand gripped her wrist.

Confusement and caution struck their bond and made her tense up. Large green eyes with flecks of brown around the pupil stared at him. He could feel the pressure of her tiny wrist in his metal hand. He became aware of how dry his throat was and licked his lips. There was a feeling inside him that was not his own, one of fear and something he couldn’t identify. He reached out, testing this feeling. Red and pink danced across his tongue as he searched the bond unknowingly.

“Who are you?” he croaked. “Where am I?”

She trembled slightly and the red taste in his mouth grew as fear blossomed in her. “I-I’m Isabeau,” she stammered. “Isabeau Jordan. You’re in my apartment.”

“Why?” he growled, tightening his grip on her wrist. As soon as the pain hit her senses, the feeling hit his. Actually feeling something within his missing limb other than basic pressure was jarring to him. He instantly let go and snatched his hand back. He examined it, turning it over, but found no difference and the pain was gone as if it never existed.

“I, uh,” she stuttered, making his eyes return to her. They were cold, harsh, and empty. But she knew he wasn’t empty, she could feel the grey and red inside of him. She swallowed before answering. “I found you. You’re, uh, pretty badly beaten up. I-I just wanted to help,” she squeaked out.

He studied her, observed her body and made all the calculations of where she was the weakest the most. It was a normal thing for him to do and was ingrained in him. Strangely, finding her vulnerabilities made his stomach turn a little bit. He could break her like a twig and the thought struck his solar plexus enough to make his throat clench shut.

“What did you do to me?” he growled. He shouldn’t have had this weakness; he shouldn’t have been able to feel her without touching her, sensing her presence in more than just the way he was trained to do. There seemed to be a string, a ribbon, tied to his core and extending to hers.

His growl sent a touch of fear through her, which he instantly felt. It made him realize how scary he sounded and an emotion built in his gut, one he hadn’t felt in a long time: guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I was just trying to help!” He watched her tongue wet her lips before she continued. “I’m an empath, see, and I was using my powers to read you and make sure you were alright. But then something snapped. It was like we, we connected.” She ran her fingers through her hair, his eyes watching her movements. She sighed, “I don’t know how to explain it and I don’t know how it happened. But I constantly feel you, and not just in a normal reading way, it’s much deeper and…” She trailed off not sure what word to use.

“Intimate,” he supplied, causing her to nod in agreement. “I feel you too,” he confessed, his voice dropping as if being too ashamed to admit it. The truth was, though, that he wasn’t ashamed, he was afraid that someone could overhear his new weakness. And that weakness was her.

He tilted his head that was still propped up against the pillow. “Will you turn me in?” he asked.

She froze, her eyes widening. “No! No, of course not. I couldn’t do that to you. Honestly, the idea of betraying you makes me sick.”

He nodded slowly. “I have the same nauseous feeling at the thought of anything hurting you.” He gritted his teeth together; it pained him to get these words out.

“I guess we really are bonded,” she chuckled without humor. She carefully reached out to grab his hands, not wanting to make him nervous. She could feel his hesitation to to touch her with the fake limb, but she squeezed it gently to give him reassurance. “Listen, I’m going to take care of you, okay?” she promised. “I’ll get you back on your feet and then we can figure this thing out.”

“You mean breaking the bond?” As soon as the words left his lips, a shot of pain flashed through their chests. They simultaneously flinched and tightened the grip on each others hands.

“It’s the logical thing to do, but just the thought of it hurts us, so I don’t know if it’s possible.” Her thumbs stroked his knuckles absentmindedly. “Don’t worry, dear. You can tell I’m being genuine because of the bond. We can’t lie to each other, I don’t think.”

“You’re… pink,” he said, not sure if that was the best way to describe it.

She smiled warmly at him. “Yeah, the colors. They represent different emotions and take a while to fully learn.”

“What am I?”

“Grey and red, mostly red though.” He noticed this made her lips turn down a bit and he decided he didn’t want to know what they meant.

“What does pink represent?” He enjoyed the feeling of her touching him, even if it was just the brush of her thumb.

“Sincerity, friendship,” she paused and blushed, “love.” He felt her realization of something. “I just noticed that I don’t know your name.”

He looked away from her warm hazel eyes. “I don’t know.”

She frowned and her confusion brushed his mind. “You don’t know your name?”

“I-I don’t remember,” he confessed. “But I think it’s Bucky.” He thought back to the blond man from the helicarrier, the one whom claimed to know him. “He said my name was, was James Buchanan Barnes.”

She was tempted to ask whom “he” was, but knew not to press. “Well, Bucky/James, what do you want to be called?

“James,” he said. Bucky was a lost friend to Rodgers, his mission. He was a completely different person now. Bucky was dead and only James the Winter Soldier remained.

* * *

Several hours later found Bo, as he learned she liked to be called, spoon feeding him broth. She denied him anything solid when she found out that HYDRA kept him alive with nasty protein shakes and IV fluid. She told him that even though she was not a medical doctor, she wanted to go slowly with his food just to be safe. As soon as the liquid touched him tongue, she felt his hunger surge, but she insisted on going slowly.

She was worried about his fever. She refused to go with the old age technique of starving it, remembering how her grandmother had done that to her once when she was little and it was miserable. She had inspected the wound in his stomach, which he told her was a bullet wound, but he had already removed the slug. They discussed how to clean the infected wound and they were both were thankful for his field medic knowledge and the internet. Pus had been found inside the wound which had to be squeezed out. Bo had to stop several times through to prevent herself from vomiting. Once his blood ran pure red, she cleaned it with soap, water, and alcohol. He had instructed her how to properly tighten the bandage around him.

After he eagerly finished off the broth, she placed the bowl on the nightstand and dapped the paper napkin on the side of his mouth to clean up what had been spilt. As she tried to wipe underneath his bottom lip, he turned his head away from her and denied her access, refusing to be treated like an infant.

“Alright,” she sighed, “have it your way.” She crumbled the napkin and dropped it in the bowl then picked up the dishes and rose from the bed. He kept facing away until she finally left the room. His attempt to bottle the frustration was futile as he knew they both felt it.

While Bo put the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and switched James’s clothes into the dryer, she felt him fall asleep. When she got back to the room she was surprised to find him actually unconscious with vomit covering his chest and chin.

“Fuck!” she cursed, running back to the kitchen to get a washcloth to clean him up. While she was thankful he hadn’t choked, she still wasn’t happy about having to wipe him down and get familiar with what used to be inside his stomach. With the puke gone for the most part, she thought about how dirty he was. She went into the guest bathroom and started running water in the tub. She kept it lukewarm, not wanting to overheat him on his fever.

Dragging him into the bathroom was a difficult task and one that caused her to strain herself. James weighed enough as it was with his serum-induced muscles, but the metal arm made it worse. While vibranium was quite light, especially for its durability, Bo didn’t see it that way.

Leaning him against the side of the tub, she got to work removing his bandages across his stomach. Once they were off, she paused, looking at his dark grey boxers. Should she remove them? It seemed too intimate, but she was playing the role of nurse and nurses did this kind of stuff. Besides, she was sure she could keep it professional.

Deciding that his hygiene was more important than her embarrassment, she slipped his underwear off of him. She avoided her eyes, determined not to look though she was curious. Fuck it, she thought, he’s unconscious anyway.

Bo had seen her fair share of dicks, so she figured her opinion was a sound one when she considered him well endowed. “Is that you or the serum?” she asked, praying he wouldn’t wake up at that moment and answer her. He didn’t. “Well, you know that size isn’t everything,” she grunted as she hoisted him into the tub, being mindful of his arm and especially his wounds. She paused and looked at his peaceful face. “Or did the serum help you with that as well? Okay, wow, not being professional like I promised,” she scolded herself.

His knees were forced to slightly bend as the tub was not long enough, though she was sure if he sat up straight then he would have just the right amount of legroom. She placed his metal arm on the side of the tub and out of the water, not sure if it could be soaked or not. She would probably have to ask him about that later. After turning the faucet off, she started with his hair. She gently massaged his scalp with shampoo and was surprised to feel his constant red turn white and pink. It was rare to find white within a person, and she had only ever found pure white while a person was meditating. It represented perfect balance, so finding it in James, with all his baggage, was unexpected.

She poured water over his hair with a plastic cup to rinse out the suds. It was while she was lathering conditioner into his locks that she felt him flutter awake via the bond. His eyes blinked open and locked onto hers. She froze, hovering over him with her hands in his hair.

After a moment of silence and a staring competition, she awkwardly said, “Hi.”

His brows drew together in a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Um, helping you get clean. No offense, but you’re smellin’ pretty ripe.”

His frown deepened and that grey and red was back. Frustration built up in his chest, so she pulled her hands out of his hair and leaned back a bit to give him some space. His eyes slid shut and he tried to calm his breathing to fight the emotions in him. They were usually so easy to put aside for his missions, but he had gone rogue and with this bond with Bo, the feelings were a lot stronger than before. He wasn’t sure how to properly deal with them.

Hazel eyes watched him carefully, taking in the red that soaked the majority of his being. He was always so red; red with fear and anger. Black was starting to spot through and that’s when she realized what was wrong with him; he felt ashamed. He hated feeling weak with her having to spoon feed him, and now she was bathing him and he had no choice in the matter.

“James,” she called to him. He ignored her, but he couldn’t hide because he didn’t know how to use the shields like she did. “James,” she repeated, placing her hands on either side of his face, making his eyes open to look at her. He noticed how smooth and slick her hands felt since they were covered with the conditioner that was still in his hair.

“Look,” she swallowed, “you may feel weakened at this moment, but that’s okay. You don’t have to worry. I told you that I’m going to take care of you and I mean it. HYDRA,” he tensed at the word, “doesn’t know you’re here. No one but you and me do. And yeah, I do know about them, SHIELD too. Everything is on the internet now, which means we’ll have to be careful, but they’ll be too busy with themselves to come after you, okay? It’s just you and me and nothing is going to change that.”

He nodded slowly, making her smile. “I hope you don’t mind the fact that I stripped you down, do you?”

“No,” he said softly. And it was true, he didn’t mind. There was no embarrassment on his part as he felt natural in his body with only some exceptions to his missing arm.

They watched each other for a moment before she continued to untangle his hair. He moved his arm so she could sit on the edge of the tub which gave her better access. He looked up at her as she hovered over him, focusing on the feeling of her fingers in his hair. Her soft caresses slowed his heart rate and settled him into the most relaxed position he believed he had ever been in. He allowed her to move him about when she rinsed out his hair.

Bo gently scrubbed him with a washcloth. The water quickly became murky, making her empty it and refill it with James sitting there patiently. She was careful to skirt around his stomach wound, watching his face and checking the bond to make sure she wasn’t hurting him, but he remained completely loose. She smiled at the yellow that warmed his edges, showing just how relaxed he truly was. She suspected it was more than just the bathing, but also the bond that put him in this state.

“Alright,” she said, pulling him back to reality, “I’m only going to wash so much of you.” He quickly understood what she meant. It put thoughts in his head and before she could pull away, his hand snatched her own that held the rag. He brushed his ring and pinky fingers against the fabric, taking in the texture and imagining it running along his length, Bo’s hand touching him through it.

Her eyes widened at the yellow-turned-orange-red that flickered through him. She threw up her shields, stopping the desire from bleeding over to her. She dropped the wash cloth, allowing it to land in her water with a soft “plop.” The tiny splash surprised him enough for her to yank to hand away.

Bo quickly stood and took several steps back to put some distance between them. She swallowed thickly and said, “You can finish bathing and… whatever else you need to do. I’ll get you some clothes.”

He watched her dash out of the bathroom, feeling a mix of guilt and shame. He wasn’t used to the bond, so he didn’t think about hiding his desire. And she had been so gentle and promising with her touches and words. He could vaguely recall times of stress in HYDRA when they had given him prostitutes to vent his bodily frustrations to, but none had shown the care Bo did.

James was in way over his head.


	3. Hot to the Touch, Cold On the Inside

Bo managed to find some clothes for James in the guestroom closet. She was thankful that Remy had left them behind for whenever he stayed over. When she returned to her guest, James cast a confused glance at the men’s clothing. Questions bubbled in his mind: Who did they belong to? Bo’s boyfriend perhaps? Did she even have a boyfriend? He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of this possible boyfriend.

He found the sweat pants to fit perfectly well, but the shirt was another issue. It was a bit tight around the chest and armpits and was slightly short, constantly threatening to ride up his belly. He felt as if he was yanking the damn thing down every two seconds. Bo wasn’t surprised, knowing Remy was taller and leaner than James, though not by much.

It was after that he had gotten dressed that he apologized to Bo, something he found foreign. He was not guilty for his attraction to her, but was quite open about it. It was the fact that he had made her uncomfortable and hadn’t been able to control himself.

“It’s alright, I understand,” she said with a wave of her hand as if to bat the whole thing away. “The bond is probably responsible. And thank you for apologizing, I can tell it isn’t easy for you.”

He stared at her from his position on the bed, wondering how she so easily managed to reject him without offending him in the slightest. They both had a mutual understanding that he was attracted to her, but she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything sexual or romantic with him. He found himself starting to respect her, liking the way she dealt with his emotions. She didn’t dismiss his affections, she acknowledged them but didn’t indulge.

She had been sitting by him on the edge of the bed, running a comb through his hair. That rebellious streak of fighting her as she babied him was fading. Even though her care was platonic and motherly, he ate up whatever he could from her. She was gentle with the comb and would smooth his hair with her hand after every stroke. He took in her scent as she sat so close. She smelled like fresh strawberries. With his eyes lingering on her lips, he wondered if she tasted like them too.

Bo paused her movements and snapped her eyes down to him. She lifted an eyebrow as she practically inhaled the orange attraction that burned around him. His eyes moved from her lips to her eyes when she stopped. Meeting her knowing gaze, he smirked brightly at her. She realized that it was the first smile she had ever seen on his face. It was a curling smirk, one that had potential to be a panty dropper. She wondered if this was the old Bucky Barnes coming out, a deadly flirt.

She rolled her eyes and smoothed his hair once more before determining his locks to be properly brushed. Placing the comb on the nightstand, she rose to her feet and turned to look back at him. “You need to get some sleep to fight off that fever. Are you sure that you don’t want some Tylenol?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t work. I have a high metabolism.”

“Okay. If you need anything just give me a shout. Actually,” she said, frowning slightly, “you might be able to wake me up through the bond.” A smile came back to her face. “Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Bo,” he replied back.

He was surprised by her next action. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, despite the clammy feeling from the fever. The touch of her lips and the feel of her breath coasting skin made his heart flutter.

He knew he was screwed.

* * *

 Terror squeezed her chest and jolted her awake before the screams came. Her body was frozen, stuck in the crippling fear that was consuming her. Despite the horrible sound of the scream ripping from his throat, she was thankful for it as it spurred her into action. She jumped from her bed and dashed into the guest room, knowing that something was wrong with James.

She opened the door with the hall light spilling in and saw him tangled in the bedsheet. Beads of sweat coated his skin. He wriggled around, screaming and fighting an enemy his mind had made. The plating from his metal hand had snagged the fabric and his struggles tore the sheet away,

Though it was logically stupid to approach him as he was a deadly assassin caught in a nightmare, Bo did just that. When she grabbed his flesh wrist in her hand, she half expected him to try to kill her. So when he did grab her and pull her into him, her breath caught in her throat. She could imagine it staying there forever when he wrapped his metal hand around her neck, crushing her jugular and straggling her to death.

That didn’t happen.

As soon as they made skin contact, his body reacted to hers. His nightmare dissipated even though sleep still claimed him. He pulled her body flush against his, her back pressed against his bare chest, hot to the touch from his fever. When she moved, his hold on her tightened, obviously not planning on letting her go. She didn’t know what to do. She was locked in his grip and he was already fading into a peaceful sleep.

Fucking bond, she thought. With no other choice, she closed her eyes and evened her breathing, matching it to James’s. His face was hidden in her hair and she could feel his breath. The red flames of his fear had settled into pink cherry blossoms brushing her consciousness as they fell. They drifted downward, some slowly gyrating in the air. Her mind, which had been buzzing with James’s nightmare, slipped into sleep.

* * *

Bo felt overheated with his warm breath hitting the back of her neck and his flesh burning hot from the fever. It was his metal arm that provided her a cold relief. She curled into it in her half asleep state. She failed to notice the movement in the air from his mouth had traveled.

“Good morning.”

As soon as the words hit her ear, her entire body froze. “Well, this is awkward,” she commented lamely.

“Is it?” he breathed. His arm that had been wrapped around her began to move. His palm left her belly and trailed over her ribs, clearly on a mission. She grabbed the back of his hand before it could reach the rendezvous point.

“Nice try, but no.” Bo had put her walls back up to stop his interest to getting to her. She could feel him poking at the barrier, testing it. She was a bit surprised at how he had already gotten such a handle on it.

He let out a disappointed hum and released her, rolling over. “Then why are we sharing a bed if not for that?” he asked smugly, watching her sit up and throw her legs off the mattress.

Her back was facing him now, so she turned her head to look at him. James could feel her hesitation as her shields slightly slipped. “You were having a nightmare and I tried to wake you up.”

Though his face was completely blank, she could sense his worry. “I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She didn’t expect to ever hear him stutter, but she ignored it and focused on his words. “Not at all. I kinda thought you would while in that state, but you calmed as soon as I touched you. I think you recognized me through the bond.”

James felt relief when he learned he had not hurt her. He never would intentionally, but Bo was small compared to him and lacked in muscle. He could easily crush her though the thought sickened him.

“Anyway,” she started, patting his knee, “how about I get you some breakfast, hmm?” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Something small. Some toast and water. You’re still sick and I don’t know if you can stomach anything stronger.” He huffed, crossed his arms, and didn’t complain. She let out a small laugh. “I’ll get right to it.”

* * *

After feeding James, Bo took a shower and then fed herself. She had checked over his stomach wound and changed the bandages. He wasn’t happy with her order of sleeping, complaining that he wasn’t tired.

“That’s too bad,” she said with her hands on her hips, “but you need rest to get better.”

He scowled at her. “I heal faster than most people. I’ll be fine by the end of the day.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll have to take your word for it, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are currently still sick. Now shut up and sleep.” She left the room, feeling his frustration, but she pushed it away and blocked him off.

Bo knew James wasn’t angry with her as much as the situation. He didn’t like feeling weak and being forced into a long state of boredom. He itched to move about, to explore the apartment and run a perimeter of it. He needed to secure the area, but wasn’t able to. He had to take Bo’s word on its safety. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, he did, and the bond wouldn’t allow foul play anyway, it was that she wasn’t an expert. She couldn’t tell the signs of being followed or sense danger coming. Yet he had no choice in the matter. Bo was weak, but he was currently weaker.

Speaking of our heroine, she was sitting on the living room couch, laptop perched on her knees. Papers and a couple pens were scattered about the coffee table. Taking care of her guest had prevented her from working on her paper on PTSD. Its deadline was midnight that night and she had yet to finish her rough draft. She settled in with a water bottle, half a bag of Lays chips for when she got hungry, and began working.

“Bo?”

She was pulled out of her work to see James standing in the doorway, looking quite a bit better than he had this morning. She glanced at the clock on her computer and was surprised to find it was 5:09 PM. Only then did she noticed the empty feeling in her stomach and the weight of her bladder.

“Yeah?”

“I-” He stopped suddenly and she was alarmed to feel the blank feeling inside of him with only a hint of worry.

“James?” she asked, but she was hushed as he pressed his finger to his lips. He cocked his head and seemed to be listening for something. With wide eyes, she watched him pull out a gun from the back of his pants. The pose he got in was one of an expert, which she had only seen on TV. He crept toward her bedroom door, his footsteps absolutely silent despite the hardwood flooring.

There was a sound coming from Bo’s room even though they were the only two in the apartment. It was a strange squeaking noise he suspected was someone trying to open the window lock, even though he had never been in the room. He carefully gripped the knob and made a gesture for Bo to get down behind the couch, which she followed.

He threw open the door and raised his gun, his movements quick and fluid. He scanned the room, but found no one in it. He checked the closet and bathroom, but they were empty as well. “All clear,” he called out to Bo, hearing her moved closer instantly. Looking toward the source of the sound, he was confused to see a small metal cage with a plastic base.

Bo laughed from the doorway once she realized what had happened. “I see you’ve met Arthur the hamster,” she teased. He watched the albino rodent run on the little blue wheel, the axle making an annoying squeaking noise. “But hey, thanks for reminding me to feed him.”

She brushed past him and took out a block of hamster food from a bag next to the cage. She undid the latch and tossed it into his small bowl. Arthur instantly jumped off the wheel and dashed to the bowl. He stuffed the block in his cheek and ran into the plastic hut he had made his nest in.

James stood there, watching the little creature. The gun was still in his hand, so he tucked it back in his waistband. He felt eyes on him, making him turn head to see Bo looking at him with amusement glinting in her hazel depths.

She leaned forward and pressed her palm to his forehead. The scent of strawberries wafted into his nose from her close proximity. “Hmm,” she hummed, “you’re not hot anymore. I guess you were right.”

He grabbed her limb before she could pull away. “I’m still plenty hot. And I enjoy you playing nurse.” His flirtatious smirk returned as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the heel of her hand. His own orange-red desire coated his tongue as he breathed on the inside of her wrist before gently kissing the flesh over her pulse.

Her eyes widened and then narrowed in a glare. Feeling her annoyance, he quickly dropped her wrist and took a step back. She took in a lungful of air and sighed heavily through her nose. “I’m going to cook something for dinner. Your fever seems to have gone down so we can test how much food you can take, cool?”

He nodded and watched her retreat into the bathroom. Heading out to the living room after giving Arthur one last glance, he started his perimeter check. The door had a lock on the knob and a second one higher up. He didn’t know how much he could trust the locks and would have to speak to Bo about upgrading them. The windows, which were located in Bo’s room and the guestroom, had weak, standard locks on them. The fire escape was outside her bedroom, which concerned him even more. If someone got in, he would be on the other side of the wall.

Bo had started working in the kitchen not far into his rounds. She didn’t say anything as he thoroughly checked the place over. She even kept her mouth shut when he start hiding some of his weapons around the house, and only raised an eyebrow at the gun in the back of the silverware drawer. He had done a double check with his weapons, testing out how easily it would be to pull them out during an emergency and if they could be seen if you didn’t know they were there. She lost sight of him as he went into the living room.

James saw Bo’s laptop sitting on the coffee table. Curious, he sat down and brought it out of sleep mode. Despite being born in 1917, he had been taught the basics of a lot of modern day technology. He had upgraded with HYDRA.

The open document that sat before him was claimed to be written by Isabeau Jordan. Interested, he began reading. He actually hadn’t heard of the name PTSD. He remembered the side effects of shell-shock, but it hadn’t been an official disorder. Trying to remember if that was right gave him a headache, so he settled for reading the paper.

He was on the last paragraph when Bo’s voice interrupted him. “I’m in the final stages of editing, so it isn’t perfect.” He was startled by her sudden appearance, having been so absorbed in the text.

“I like it,”he complimented her. “It’s fascinating.”

“Really?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. The question was unnecessary as she could feel his pink sincerity.

He nodded anyway. “Why are you writing it?”

“Oh, uh,” she stumbled, walking over to the back of the couch and placing her elbows on it. Leaning forward and using the furniture to support her weight, she told him, “It’s for my class.”

“Class?”

“Yeah, I’m majoring in psychology at NYU. I’m an empath, so why not learn more about the field? If you’re good at something, never do it for free. Off topic, but weren’t you in DC when all that stuff happened? Why did you come to New York?

He hesitated before explaining, “I needed to distance myself from the area. And I was on my way to Brooklyn.”

She frowned. “Brooklyn? Why there?”

“Because he-I’m from there.”

She nodded, but didn’t press. “I see. Anyway, food’s ready if you’re hungry.”

He quickly got to his feet and placed the laptop on the table before following her into the kitchen. She had the small, two seated table set with plates, forks, knives, cups of water, and napkins. A pot of spaghetti sat in the middle and the smell made his stomach rumble.

She smiled at him, both hearing and feeling his hunger. “You’ll notice a lack of meat with my meals. I’m vegan so we usually don’t have any in the apartment. It’s cheaper anyway.” She started dishing some on her own plate, but stopped noticing him just standing there. “Well, sit down.”

After getting the permission he was waiting for, he sat down and licked his lips as Bo started filling his plate. Even after she stopped, he didn’t make a move toward the food, but stared at it.

“James,” she called to him. He looked up at her from his position from across the table. “Are you waiting for my permission?” He paused and thought about it. Realizing that he was, he nodded after deciding to give her the truth. She sighed and said, “You don’t need my permission. You can do whatever you want. Well, almost whatever. Now eat.”

He felt no shame shoveling the noodles into his mouth, the sauce coating his lips and even his chin. It had been so long since he had real food like this. Though really the meal wasn’t special, it made his taste buds explode. He ignored the hazel eyes watching him.

“Slow down,” Bo said, and he instantly complied. “You’re going to choke or get sick again.” She smiled at his joy of eating though. “You can eat as much as you can stomach, but I’d like to leave some for Lauren when she-”

The shock that ran through Bo struck him hard enough to cause him to drop his fork. “Bo?” James asked worriedly.

“Fuck!” she cursed. “I totally forgot!”

Quickly, he stood and made his way over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked in her eyes, searching to bond. “What did you forget?”

“Lauren’s getting here tomorrow.”

Lauren? he wondered. “Why is she coming here? Can’t you tell her not to?”

Bo sighed. “No, I can’t, on the count of the fact that she lives here.”


	4. Girls Love Girls and Boys

James knew that the safety Bo and him had created wouldn’t be permanent, but he didn’t think it would end so soon. Despite not knowing Lauren, he didn’t like her for the simple reason that she would destroy Bo’s and his little haven.

Bo took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to collect her thoughts. “Alright, so she should be getting back mid-morning tomorrow. I have to go to work at three-”

“No,” he cut her off.

“No?” She frowned at him. “No what? No, I can’t go to work?” His silence answered her. “James! I have to. I can’t just call in sick. Besides, I need the money. This apartment isn’t exactly cheap, y’know. I also have students loans to pay.”

The hands on her shoulders trailed down her arms and gripped her wrists. “You’re not leaving me,” he demanded.

“I’m not leaving you!” she exclaimed. “I’m going to work for a few hours, that’s it.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“You can’t just- Ugh!” She pulled out of his hold and threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Dios mío, you’re stubborn.” She dropped her hands in her lap, which he instantly grabbed again. “Look, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Until then, I need to figure out what I’m going to say to Lauren.” She stared up at him, still sitting in the chair with him standing above her. Apparently, his train of thought matched hers because he dropped down so he was sitting on his heels. The pads of his thumbs brushed the backs of her hands. She sighed again and slumped in the chair. “I guess I should just tell her the truth.”

His eyes sharply cut to hers. “No,” he repeated.

“James,” she whined, causing him to snort, “I have to. She’s going to recognize you; the shit that happened in DC was all over the news, so everyone knows about it. And even if that wasn’t the case, there’s still your arm. I have to tell her.”

“No,” he said, sounding like a broken record. Before she could say anything, he continued, “What if she’s HYDRA?”

They both paused, realizing that it was the first time they acknowledged the elephant in the room. Neither had wanted to mention HYDRA, they were a threat that the bonded paired didn’t want to face. Bo had no way to fight them and she didn’t want to see them take James. The ex-HYDRA agent feared for his partner because he knew that they would tear them apart since she made him weak.

“That ridiculous,” Bo said, interrupting the silence. “I’ve known Lauren for over a year and we’ve lived together for months. You’ve been separated from HYDRA for what? Two weeks? And you’ve been here for less than 24 hours. Like, maybe if Lauren had a serious government job, but she works at a free health clinic.”

James listened to her and knew it was paranoia that made him suspicious of this Lauren girl. He had no reason to suspect her other than the fact that he didn’t know her. It was natural for him to think HYDRA was everywhere and everyone was potentially an agent. You just don’t want her to get between you and Bo, a small part of him whispered, but he pushed it away.

“Let’s finish eating first,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts. He nodded, stood, and hesitantly released her. Though he would never admit it, he craved human touch. He had been deprived of it for the last 70 years and what he had been given had almost always brought pain. He knew Bo wouldn’t hurt him and she couldn’t even if she wanted to. Every word that dripped from her lips and every touch that lingered on his skin even after she let go was pink with sincerity. James trusted her; he liked the feeling though it was foreign.

* * *

Of all the possible ways he could have imagined Lauren Ross, her actual appearance was something his imagination could not have created on its own. The feature of hers that he first noticed was her height. She was tall, very tall. She towered over him by several inches, reaching a stunning 6’4. Her inky black hair was a sharp contrast to her ivory skin, which was covered in tattoos. The right side of her head was shaved in a style that he was sured belonged to Native Americans.

The silver septum piercing she had momentarily flashed in the light of the apartment as she turned to face him. Her brown eyes trailed over him as she raised a perfectly shaped, thin eyebrow. She folded her arms, giving him a show of the artwork. The tattoos covered her arms like sleeves; one had flowers and skulls and the Virgin Mary. The other depicted an empty face with golden eyes and red lips, but no nose. The backdrop was a deep blue with a bright, flashing city ending at her elbow and a yellow car flashing by.

The Great Gatsby, his mind whispered. He didn’t know where it came from, but he recognized the picture somehow.

A single word in Russian was inked on the inside of her arm, below what he thought might be a book cover. “Soup,” he read aloud, breaking the silence.

“What?” Lauren asked, frowning.

“Soup,” he repeated. He cocked his head and nodded at the Russian tattoo. “Why soup?”

“No, it says ‘dream,’” she corrected him.

“No, it says ‘soup.’ мечтать means dream and суп means soup.”

They stared at each other silently for a moment. Lauren turned her head to look at Bo, panic in her eyes. “Do you really think it says soup?”

“Uh,” Bo stuttered, “I don’t know Russian.”

“But he does,” Lauren probed.

Bo bit her lip. “Apparently.”

“Fuck!” Lauren cursed. “I’ve been walking around with fucking soup on my arm for how many years?!” She placed her head in her hands. “Goddamn it! I’m gonna have to get a cover up or something.”

James was tense, unsure how to handle Lauren’s outburst. Amusement flickered through Bo, making him relax a bit and look at her. Her bottom lip was stuck between her teeth and he realized that she was fighting off a smile and possibly a laugh.

Before coming out to meet Lauren, he had been hiding away in the guestroom when Lauren came home so Bo could explain everything to her. There had been stressed tones and words that rose in volume, but overall things had gone considerably well. And even though Lauren was devastated over her soup tattoo, things were going well. He wasn’t sure if the relief he felt was his or Bo’s, but it was relaxing.

Lauren sighed and momentarily pulled herself out her self-loathing. “Well, that’s just great. I get back from a funeral to find out I have soup permanently inked on my body. Anyway, I’m going to unpack.” In less that two steps, but more than one, she had reached Bo with those long legs. Bo instantly tilted her head back on reflex and Lauren had to lean down greatly in order to close the distance between their lips. The kiss was short and sweet and surprised James. It also answered the question in the back of his mind about where Lauren slept since the only bedrooms were Bo’s and the guestroom.

As he watched Lauren exit the stage, he thought about how Bo’s rejection made sense. Her non-attraction to men was disheartening, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was left with desires for a woman whom would never return those feelings.

He turned to the object of his affection and decided he was comfortable enough with her to voice his thoughts. “Now I see why you aren’t interested in me.” That made her laugh a little. “It’s too bad you don’t like men, I’ll never have a chance now.”

She raised her eyebrows, unable to lift just one, and approached him. “James,” she said from just a foot away, “I rejected you because I am in a committed relationship with Lauren and I love her. But you shouldn’t assume things because I never said I didn’t like men.” She smiled smugly and went to follow Lauren, leaving him to his thoughts.

* * *

James kept close to Bo, his eyes flitting around constantly. Every time they moved, he would search for entrances and exits to the department store; And, of course, for HYDRA.

If it hadn’t been for the bond, she wouldn’t have noticed his tense mood, but she moved about, searching the racks for something to fit him. He wore the clothes she found him in with the exception of the shirt, which was Remy’s. He had zipped up the jacket to hide the way top rode up his stomach. He made sure to keep his left hand in his pocket so no one could see the metal. He noticed Bo add a pair of black leather gloves to their collection.

There had been a lot of Bo holding up clothing to him to see if it looked like it matched. At one point she managed to surprise him by grabbing the back of his pants to check the size. She was hesitant about jackets, wanting something bulky enough so it wouldn’t show the shape of his metal arm. She was also worried about it snagging on the shifting plates. He had felt ridiculous when she made him take off his boots so he could try on shoes. He let her choose, knowing that she was more knowledgeable on clothing and the culture of the day than he was. James stayed mostly silent and would only nod or shake his head. At times, he had to do neither since she felt his opinion on something.

“Alright,” she said after 45 minutes, “I think we have enough clothing.” The cart the store provided held two pairs of jeans, black leather gloves, a pair of sneakers, a pair of combat boots, five shirts that varied in shades of gray and black, and a black leather jacket. There were also packages of socks and boxers. When she asked if he prefered boxers or briefs, he had no answer. She had sighed and said, “I remember you were wearing boxers, so we’ll go with those.”

Before they could check out, she had grabbed an electric razor, shaving cream, a comb, and deodorant for him. He watched her unload the items on the counter for the sales clerk to ring them up. She wore a white button up that hid her figure and black pants with black sneakers. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail with bobby pins holding back her side swept bangs. She had complained that her employers were stingy about the uniforms and even demanded she wore black socks. The only part of the outfit she was missing was her long black apron with her name tag pinned to it, which she left in the car.

James frowned when he noticed the pricings on the screen that was perched on the counter. He didn’t know what he was comparing it to, but everything seemed ridiculously expensive to him. He wasn’t sure if he was okay with Bo spending all that money on him, especially when just last night she mentioned how she needed the cash from working.

She turned to look at him when she felt that he was upset. “What’s wrong?” she asked, brushing back the bangs that weren’t in her way but just did it due to habit.

He paused and wondered if he should tell her. “That’s a lot of money for clothing.”

Catching his meaning, she smiled at him in reassurance as she slipped the bank card out of her wallet. “Not really,” she said, swiping the card, “it’s the leather jacket that’s making the total that high.” She typed in her pin number as she spoke to him. “And I don’t mind, really. I’ll make up a good slice of this tonight on tips. Besides,” she stopped and turned to give him her full attention, “you need this stuff, James. Let me take care of you.” The last sentence was hushed as she ran her hand down this flesh arm. He swore he could feel the searing heat of her skin through the jacket. She pulled away instantly and began to gather the bags, but orange attraction still hung in the air.

* * *

When they questioned what to do with James while Bo was at work, as if he were a dog, Lauren had surprised everyone else by backing him up on the idea that he should go with her to work. “It’s a public place so he can get away with it. And if he sits at your section, no one else will notice him staying for a couple hours.”

So he had waited outside the restaurant for a bit so she could clock in, then he went in and asked the hostess if it was possible he could sit in Bo’s section, as he was a friend of her’s. Rachel-Rose, as her name tag indicated, smiled at him and didn’t find the request strange, just as Bo had assured him she wouldn’t. Luck was on his side when she led him to a table in the back corner. When he sat down, her smile became brighter, her warm brown eyes shining. “Your server will be right with you,” she promised.

And so she was. Bo told him he had to have something if he was going to stay. “I’ll pay for it,” she told him. “You don’t even have to tip me,” she teased.

James watched her work, going from table to table, taking orders, bringing out arms full of plates or drinks. He had to admit that he was impressed with the way she could balance so many dishes while also supporting the heavy weight. She spoke kindly and used her powers to admit relaxed, friendly, yellow emotions. There were times when she became annoyed or frustrated with a customer, but she remained professional.

He watched her approach a table with a mother and a boy about six or seven years old. The father had been there only moments before but had left for the bathroom. Her lips moved as she talked, probably asking them if they needed anything. The boy said something that caused her smile and jaw to drop. James tensed at the shock that ran through her. Both Bo and the mother had similar surprised faces as they looked at the little boy. The mother said something hurriedly to Bo, eyes wide. A few more words were exchanged and Bo quickly left the table.

Catching her eye, he gestured for her to come over. Once she was close enough, he grabbed her wrist and ran his thumb over her pulse, suddenly wishing he wasn’t wearing those damn gloves. “What happened?” he asked, worriedly.

“Nothing, I just-” She paused and blinked. “I just got cussed out by a little kid.”

His brows knitted together. “What?”

“I asked if they needed refills,” she recounted, “and the kid just says, ‘Shut up, bitch.’ Can you believe that? I didn’t know what to do.”

The laugh that escaped his mouth startled him, but he couldn’t hold it back. It was the hilarity of the story and the relief that she was fine that had done it for him. She smiled widely at him as the laugh faded off into chuckles. “Now I’m definitely disappointed I won’t get a tip.”

It was nearing the end of her shift when two men walked in. One wore a baseball cap that obscured part of his face. Normally, she would have moved on like most people, but instead her eyes hooked on to him. After several long, drawn out seconds, she recognized him. To make matters worse, the hostess led them both over to her section.

They were thankfully away from James, but panic settled into her heart. She could see her bondmate staring at her, wondering if she was okay and what had upset her. They locked eyes before she glanced over at her two new customers. He followed her gaze and nearly broke the glass in his metal hand.

It seemed she would be serving Captain America his dinner.


	5. I'm Half-Doomed & You're Semi-Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Steve are in this chapter and if anyone thinks they should be written differently, please throw in your opinion. Bucky is kind of a free space in personality sense there are so many different possibilities of how his time with HYDRA could have affected him, but Sam and Steve are not.

It seemed that these days Steve had a perpetual frown on his face, Sam thought. They were both still sore from the battle that had happened two weeks prior, Sam more than Steve even though the Captain had taken the more serious wounds. With the exception of some scratches on his face, a fading scar on his abdomen, and a couple tender bones, the super soldier was, for the most part, physically fine.

His brows were drawn together as he frowned at the wooden table top. He was worried about Bucky. Had his friend returned to HYDRA? Was he wondering the streets, lost and alone? Was he hurt? Was he even alive? No, Steve thought, he’s alive. He doesn’t die that easily.

They had come out to New York looking for Bucky. Natasha had sent them a lead (and a name of a woman to be Steve’s possible future girlfriend) via an untraceable source. He didn’t know how the Black Widow had done it since she wasn’t even in America, but he trusted her enough to go upstate. Maybe he’s headed for Brooklyn. Going back to his roots.

“Steve,” Sam started, making the man look at him, “don’t worry, we’ll find him. I’m sure he’s fine anyway; that guy is tougher than nails.”

Steve exhaled a little in relief from the reassurance. Sam seemed to be able to read his mind.

“The problem though,” Sam continued, “is what happens after you find him. His programming from his mission might kick in and he may try to kill you again. I know plenty of vets with PTSD, and he’s gotta have it bad. It’ll be a hell of  a recovery.”

“I know,” Steve said, nodding mostly to himself, “but whatever it takes. Bucky took care of me and I want to return the favor. And it doesn’t matter how HYDRA agents…” He trailed off as the waitress approached.

She was in her mid-twenties, if Steve had to guess. Her smile was bright and the contrast of her darker complexion made her teeth seem even whiter. Despite her perky stance of someone working for tips, there was a nervousness in her hazel eyes. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he was immediately suspicious of her. No one noticed the faces of customer service workers, not really. It was the perfect position for a spy.

“Hello,” she greeted them. “My name is Bo and I’ll be your server today.” She handed them menus and napkins with utensils rolled up inside. Her hands slightly shook. “What can I get you to drink?”

After they both ordered water, she left to fetch them their drinks and give them time to decide what they wanted to eat. Steve looked at Sam, wondering if he had noticed the odd behavior of their waitress. The Falcon was too busy looking at the menu, however.

“Sam,” he said in a low voice, making the other look up in bemusement.

“What?”

His eyes flickered around to see if anyone was listening in. “Did you notice the waitress?”

“Uh, yeah. You know, this is a bad time to pick up a date.”

“I wasn’t-”

“And you should probably tell Natasha. Maybe then she’ll lay off.”

“No,” Steve cut him off. “I mean that she was acting strange. As if she was nervous.”

Sam shrugged. “So? Maybe she recognized you but didn’t want to make a scene.”

“Maybe,” Steve mumbled, looking around. He noticed a man in the corner with a baseball cap pulled over in face in a similar fashion that Steve had his and his dark brown hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. He had a black leather jacket on with a gray shirt underneath and dark wash jeans. What was strange though was that he had on black gloves despite the warm temperature outside and the cool air conditioning of the restaurant. Steve could see the scruffy beard along a strong, square jaw and weak chin. That couldn’t be…

Bo the waitress jumped in front of his view, holding their drinks on a black, circular tray. He blinked at her, a little startled. She put the glasses on the table, then pulled out a notebook from the pocket of her apron and flipped it open, pen ready. “Are you ready to order?”

Sam asked for a burger with the works and fries. Steve hesitated, never having gotten the chance to look over the menu. “Make it a double,” he said, copying Sam’s order. She nodded and smiled, scribbling on her notebook. He studied her carefully, his intense gaze making her look up at him. Suddenly, a feeling of calm washed over him and he didn’t even bother to wonder why he was worried in the first place.

When she left, Sam asked, “Are you sure she’s sketchy? She seems fine to me.”

“Sketchy?”

“Uh, suspicious.”

Steve casually shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sure it was nothing.”

“You sure?” he asked, wondering where the mood swing came from.

“Yeah, it’s whatever.”

Sam was confused with how relaxed Steve had suddenly gotten and his use of a more modern phrase. One minute he’s stressing over his friend and paranoid about the waitress, then he’s seemingly carefree. “Oookaaay,” he said, stretching out the vowels.

Meanwhile, Bo was panicking and she tried to calm herself because it would freak James out. She put the order in to the chef and headed to James so they could discuss the situation in whispers. He didn’t look at her when she approached, but he was aware of her presence.

“James,” she whispered to him.

“I know,” he replied, his voice tense.

“What do we do?”

He didn’t answer, only glared a hole into his glass of water. Kill him, the brainwashed part of his mind whispered. Kill Captain America; he’s your mission.

No, he mentally answered himself.

You do not fail the mission. Your duty is to serve HYDRA. You are a weapon, a soldier; it is your purpose.

No, he repeated. Bo would never forgive me.

And just like that, the voice shut up. Even it could not deny Bo’s importance and they both feared her rejection.

“James,” she whimpered this time.

The fear in her voice and the red in her startled him. She was afraid, but Captain America would never hurt her, she was an innocent civilian. But he could hurt me, and that’s what she’s afraid of, he realized. It tore at his heart and he felt an aching feeling in his chest at the thought of Bo caring about him because of more than just the bond.

“He doesn’t want to hurt me. He refused to fight me last time,” he reassured her.

She studied him and the bond closely, looking for deception. Finding none, she asked, “Why?”

“Because he, he said he was my…” He paused and his mouth twisted. “...friend.”

“James,” Bo whispered, leaning in closer, “do you think that he wants to help you?”

“I don’t know.”

“If he does then maybe we should-”

“No,” he growled, making them both grimace, him in guilt and her from the sharp, emotional pain in her chest. He sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, finding apologizing to her to be easier than before.

She swallowed thickly and tried to think logically rather than emotionally, something that wasn’t normal for her. Or maybe emotions were the key to this. Steve was apparently James’s friend and possibly wanted to help him. That’s what friends do, anyway. Bo was bonded to James and studying psychology, so in a way she was his best option for recovery. But that didn’t mean she could do it on her own. Besides, Captain America could surely provide them protection.

So if she were to recruit Steve to the James Rehabilitation Front, how could she go about it without causing a scene? She couldn’t just march up there and tell them everything. Maybe she could do that in private. But would James even go for any of this?

“James,” she said, but he continued to glare at the cup on the table. “James,” she said more firmly, making him look up, “I think we should get Steve’s help.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “We don’t have much of a choice. We need help and I have the suspicion that’s he’s looking for you anyway. You can’t just hide away in the apartment forever, James. That’s not fair to Lauren and that’s not fair to me.”

He shut his mouth at that. She was bathed in red and orange, but it wasn’t sexual attraction that she felt; it was passion mixed with determination. He couldn’t help but think that it made her glow beautifully. I could easily love her, he thought.

She was still waiting for his response, so he nodded and said, “This is what you’re gonna do…”

* * *

It was Sam that noticed the slip of paper returned to Steve with the check and his card. “Phone number?” he asked, pointing to it.

Steve shrugged shyly; he was just getting used to how open women of this time were and how it wasn’t set in stone for men to be the ones to initiate a relationship. What was still foreign to him was the fact that he was considered attractive to people. Plenty of women and a few men had openly hit on him. It always caused his cheeks to warm in the case of pretty dames, but the men just made him sputter. The reactions were always different; some women practically cooed at the color in his face, while others rolled their eyes at his shyness and lost interest. The men usually laughed at his expense and waved off the whole ordeal, understanding that he didn’t play for that team.

Steve would have only spared a glance at the number before tossing it since this was not a time in his life for dates, but the letters rather than numbers made him stop. The handwriting fell into a blurred line between print and cursive.

Cap Rogers,

back kitchen after closing

use employees only door

about Winter Soldier

 

His face was white as a sheet, making Sam ask if he was alright. After being handed the paper and reading it himself, Sam cursed under his breath. “I guess you were right about the waitress.” Steve solemnly nodded and Sam asked, “Are we going?”

Steve let out a deep breath and replied, “What choice do we have?”

* * *

It was just past midnight by the time all the employees had gone home. They were prepared to pick the lock, but found it already unlocked. Each had a gun cradled in his hands as they swept the dark room. It was empty with the exception of Bo the waitress whom was sitting on top of a steel counter near the walk in freezer. Her feet dangled off the ground, allowing her to kick them a bit like a bored child. The palms of her hands lay flat on the edge of the countertop as she looked at them with a blank expression.

“Put those away,” she said about the guns. “There’s no need for them; I’m unarmed.”

“Who do you work for?” Steve asked the stereotypical question while completely ignored her past words.

“Not HYDRA, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Normally he would think she was lying since she was the one to bring them up, but there was something that made him believe her. She leaned back a bit and studied them. “Since I’m the one that called this meeting and reached out to you, I think I should be asking the questions.” He opened his mouth, but she fired away. “Are you looking for the Winter Soldier?”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Why are you interested?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Why are you looking for him and what are your intentions?” At his silence, she said, “I have reason to believe that you know him. Personally. Lovers, perhaps?”

The idea was startling and left him floundering for a moment. The smug look on Bo’s face let him know she was only messing with him. But it was curious as how she knew that Bucky and him knew each other personally. There was a part of him that wanted to confess to her, to make her trust him, to rely on her. “I want to help him,” he finally said.

“You do?” she asked with raised eyebrows. They dropped and a smile split her face. “Well! Why didn’t you say so?”

On cue, the freezer door creaked open, clouded mist from the warm air meeting cold air spilled out. The man emerged from the fog and Steve instantly recognized him as the man in the restaurant and his suspicions were confirmed. Bucky!

His body jerked forward, but Sam’s hand on his shoulder and the shake of Bo’s head stopped him. “Hold on, Cap,” she said, “that isn’t a good idea. I know you’re happy to see him, but there are some things that need to be discussed before there is any chance of a happy reunion.”

Bo and James looked at each other and he felt her mentally brush against him with an unspoken question in mind. He nodded to reassure her that he was fine and in control of himself. Steve watched them and wondered what exactly was between them.

Then Bo explained everything. She told them about her mutation, how she found James, and about the bond they shared. She had a similar problem when talking to Lauren when it came to describing the bond. It was something that was impossible to truly understand unless you were part taking in it. It was also something that was intimate, but she left that part out. James stayed silent while she talked, lingering by her side. She could feel his weariness as he studied Steve and Sam, wondering if they were threats to the bond.

Steve sighed and ran his hands over his face, taking in all the information she had just given them. As he tried to process everything, Bo leaned over to James and whispered, “Did I do good? With the whole pretending I’m part of the intelligence community or whatever thing?” He resisted the urge to smile and nodded. She grinned widely, her yellow elation and blue confidence coating his tongue.

“I’d like to talk to Bucky,” Steve said, interrupting their moment. “Sam, would you mind taking Ms. Jordan home?”

“No,” James growled, speaking for the first time.

“Bucky,” Steve started.

“No,” James repeated.

Bo rolled her eyes, knowing this game. “Hey,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder, “I’ll be fine, okay? You should talk to him, James. He’s the one that can tell you about your past. And yes,” she said to the look he was giving her, “I know that you’re trying to find out about it. You can’t hide anything from me.” She hopped down from the steel counter and smiled at him. “Like I said, I’ll be fine. It’s late anyway and I’m tired.” She yawned for show and said to Sam, “Lead the way.”

There wasn’t any conversation between them until he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. A dull ache slowly started to grown in Bo’s belly.

“He hasn’t,” Sam paused, trying to find the right words, “hurt you, has he?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“Look, I get you have some special connection to the guy, but you’ve only known him for two days. I haven’t known him much longer, but I’ve fought him and I know what he’s capable of.”

“Sam,” she said, “I haven’t seen the Winter Soldier part of him, but I know everything he’s feeling. Like right now, he’s agitated and upset. I’m also trying to calm him down. James couldn’t hurt me even if he wanted to.”

He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that when I get hurt, he feels it and vice versa.”

“So if he hurts you, he’ll be hurting himself,” he concluded.

“Exactly.”

As they drove, the pain in her gut became more than she could bare. The distance between her and James was killing her, it felt like. At the halfway point between her work and home was when James entered the scene, pulling off the door and carrying out a weak Bo. He ran to her apartment with her in his arms. He threw open the door and Lauren looked at them wide-eyed from the couch.

“Where have you two been?! What’s going on?!”

He ignored her, marching into Bo’s bedroom. He deposited her on the bed and she watched him push the dresser across the room, rattling Arthur’s cage, and putting in front of the door so no one could enter. He peered out the window, watching, waiting. Deeming there to be no spies, he checked the latch and it’s strength. He closed the blinds and checked over the bathroom. He searched everything, making sure there were no bugs, hidden cameras, etc.

Everyone had their own aura, their own emotional signature. James was the easiest to identify because of their bond. But now it had changed and part of him felt blank, as if multiple puzzle pieces had gone missing. It scared her.

When he was finally done with his mission, he stopped. He didn’t know what to do next. Bo slowly crawled out of bed and approached him. He then started to check her over, making sure she wasn’t injured. “I’m okay,” she told him, but didn’t fight him off. His fingers ran through her hair, looking for any knots or cuts. He peered into her eyes and looked for any sign of head damage. He nodded when she passed his test. They were extremely close and he could smell the strawberries that seemed to always cling to her. He inhaled deeply, basking in the relief that she was fine and they were together.

Plush, pink lips crashed into her own. The kiss was not lustful, nor heated, nor even necessarily loving; it was desparate. He wanted to feel something from her, affection of any kind and reassurance that they would be fine, that they would be safe. He wanted her to promise him that she would stay with him and she wouldn’t leave again. His beard scratched her face and his fingers tangled in her hair, both metal and flesh. She did not reciprocate or reject him, but kept her hands by her sides as his lips massaged her own, trying to get something out of her.

He finally pulled back to breathe, but whispered to her as he pecked her face, touching her lips, the corners of her mouth, her chin, her cheeks. “Bo, please,” he begged between quick kisses. He murmured in Russian, but nothing came from her.

After a minute of his desperation, she sighed and turned her head away, making his lips catch the curve of her jaw. “James, stop,” she softly ordered.

He obeyed and switched to trailing the tip of his nose along the side of her neck and into her hair. “I’m not James.”

Bo reached up and pulled the metal hand from her hair and held it. “Then who are you?”

“The Winter Soldier,” he whispered.


End file.
